


Hunka Hale's Burning Love

by apinkducky, captaintinymite (augopher)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Firefighters, Alternate Universe - Human, Established Relationship, Firefighter Derek Hale, Firefighter Stiles, Humor, Hurt Stiles, M/M, Marriage Proposal, bad poems, charity pin-up calendar, feels and angst with a happy ending, really just about everyone is a firefighter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-06-02 15:01:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6570763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apinkducky/pseuds/apinkducky, https://archiveofourown.org/users/augopher/pseuds/captaintinymite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As firefighters and lovers, both Stiles and Derek, knew the dangers of their job and what it could mean for their relationship. They knew what could happen and did the job anyway. That doesn't mean they didn't worry about each other getting hurt. They'd been lucky in that respect...so far.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hunka Hale's Burning Love

**Author's Note:**

> originally written for the Sterek Writers Network's [Spring Fic exchange](http://sterekwriters.tumblr.com/post/142903456793/salutations-friends-as-promised-below-you-will)
> 
> Now with beautiful art created by [Gri (gri-clover)](http://gri-clover.tumblr.com/). Thanks so much, dear, for the beautiful piece for our fic.
> 
> We tried to be as accurate as we could with the technical aspects of firefighting, but seeing as how neither of us fights blazes for a living, there may be some inaccuracies. Hopefully, they're not major.

“Looking good, Hale,” Isaac cackled as Derek walked into BHFD No. 3 only to see his fellow firefighter holding the department’s charity calendar for 2016. “Way to keep it wet.” He pointed to the stream of water splashing all over him as it poured from the truck. “Going to be most popular month for the sixth year in a row, definitely,” he said and winked at him.

It was a running joke within the department that, despite his grumpy demeanor, the ladies (and some men) of Beacon Hills snatched up copies of the calendar like crazy. He’d be annoyed by it if the proceeds didn’t benefit the local food pantries.

“Derek, June’s handsome hero, is thirty-two. Lieutenant Hale is a ten-year veteran of the department. This bookworm’s other hobbies include cycling, muscle cars, and rescuing stray puppies,” Isaac’s voice as he read was the one he reserved for mocking things. He wasn’t sure if he should be insulted or find it funny. He settled for a deadpan facial expression as Isaac kept going ignoring him. “He takes his coffee with whipped cream, milk, and enough sugar to give an elephant diabetes. His favorite food is cheese souffle. Though he sounds like a real catch…sorry folks, he’s taken.” As he finished reading, he set the calendar on the table and burst out in raucous laughter.

Erica snatched the calendar from his hands, turned the pages until it was again in January, and hang it on the wall again. “You dare try to read mine, you’ll be looking for your teeth.”

Derek ignored them and walked into the locker room to change for his shift. His blurb in the calendar? Stiles’ doing. In fact, it had been worse until Derek grabbed his pen and crossed out some of the more ridiculous bits. ‘ _In his free time, Derek likes scowling at teenagers and telling them to get off his lawn. He loves leather jackets and tight jeans that make his ass look sexy, evening out the fact that he’s a poor conversationalist_.’

He felt certain that it was because Stiles envious that he hadn’t been picked for the calendar yet. It was a district wide endeavor, and they had to be nominated by townspeople. Popularity contests had always been a sore spot for Stiles. No matter how many times Derek has told his boyfriend that he was gorgeous, the insecurity still remained.

The red light in the corner of the locker room began to flash and moments later, the firehouse was filled with the harsh buzzing that signalled a call. He rushed to finish dressing in his under layers before running out to the racks where they kept their turnout suits. “What do we got?” He asked as he tugged up his protective pants.

“High Rise fire over on Parkhurst Ave. What was a four alarm fire is now a six alarm mess. I already sent 837 out an hour ago. Get out there a save their asses. Last time I ever let Bilinski volunteer,” Captain Finstock grumbled. “Gonna put me in an early grave.”

Remembering the text message that had come through while he was riding to work, Derek grabbed, his phone (still in his pocket). The message was from Stiles, as was their custom before leaving the station on a call when they worked different shifts. Derek loved the job, but it was not without its hazards. So the message was their standard ‘ _Going on a call. Love you’_ or some version of that anyway. Even though Stiles wouldn’t be able to read the text from Derek until the fire was under control, he sent one anyway.

They weren’t supposed to take their phones out on a call, but time was ticking. So, he turned it off and finished suiting up.

“Hurry up, slowpoke!” Isaac already had the truck running and pulling out of the station.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Derek grabbed his flash hood, helmet and SCBA and rushed for the truck, jumping into the cabin before Isaac could leave without him.

 

***

 

 

The ride to the fire wasn’t long with the siren on and Isaac’s skillful driving.  Even before reaching their destination, the indications of the fire were around them, the heavy smoke that darkened the sky, the smell, the undetermined noise of a chaos in progress.

Derek could hear his blood pumping in his ears as their destination drew near, feeling everything under his skin despite the protective layers. A decade on the job, and that uncomfortable itch of anxiety still got to him every.damn.call. When he was a boy, Derek had wanted to be a librarian. Losing most of his family to a fire had a way of giving his life a new perspective. Since he couldn’t have saved them, he poured his energy into saving others so no one else would have to feel the way he had all those years ago. He wasn’t always successful, but at least he was trying. As Stiles would say, that went a long way.

And yet, no matter how many years of experience he acquired, there would always be one thing that would make his skin crawl; the suffocating smell of burning flesh. He swallowed hard and pulled himself together. This wasn’t a time to go down that path. He had to keep his mind clear if he wanted to be of any help to those that needed him.

When they were a couple blocks away, he could make out the crowd gathered at a safe distance from the building that was caught up in flames. Bystanders, mostly curious people that loved drama, were one of the first difficulties they had to overcome when they got a call. Derek never paid them attention as long as they weren’t creating problems, despite the fact that he hated them being there, seemingly delighting in other people’s suffering. Schadenfreude at its finest.

“We’re here! Get ready!”

They piled out of the truck and went to work: Isaac readied the ladder as Erica screwed a hose into a nearby hydrant. Derek, on the other hand, went to locate the officer in charge, whom he found about twenty feet away from where they’d parked.

“Where do you want us?”

With the deafening din of the roaring fire, it was difficult to hear the officer. Derek spared a quick glance at his name tag, which read: Capt. Jones. “What kind of rig you running?”

“Ladder truck, hundred foot turntable.”

“How many in your truck?”

“Four of us. Driver, Hydrant tech, OVM*, and myself, I usually tackle Roof/Iron.”

The officer tapped Derek on the shoulder and pointed up at the building where the blaze was barely contained at all. He knew this building. Mistletoe Tower was the only subsidized housing complex in Beacon Hills. As such, he knew it housed hundreds people, which had the potential for a _lot_ of fatalities. He gulped at the thought.

Derek had this talent when at a call for shutting out all outside distractions and narrowing his focus with laser-like precision. Whenever he explained to non-company people how his brain could just slow things down around him, they seldom believed him. The scene around him was a flurry of activity as firefighters and emergency personnel rushed around. A lump rose in his throat when he saw six ambulances on site. Clearly, they were expecting the worst, and rightly so.

The problem with high rise fires, especially in ones like in the complex, which was sixteen stories high? The longest aerial ladder only reached 110 ft, which was six stories too short. That made search and rescue of the upper floors extremely dangerous. Cave-ins were common, casualties even more so.

Whatever. They were professionals. They could do this.

“We need you on the ninth! Help get those people down.”

Staring out at them from several windows above the seventh floor, people were waiting for help out of the building. Derek nodded, touching the man’s elbow and signaled to Isaac to move the truck as he climbed on it again and explained where they were going. Navigating between the other emergency vehicles and the crowd wasn’t easy, but Isaac was an adept and cautious driver. Once he seemed satisfied with their position, he let the aerial rig’s turntable do the hard work of maneuvering the ladder into position. When Isaac had it right where he needed it, Derek took his place behind Boyd, on the ladder, and they started their slow but steady ascent.

Erica remained on the ground doing what she did best, her skilled and strong hands holding the hose nozzle to douse the fire with near perfect precision.

The ninth floor was engulfed in angry orange flames that taunted them from the inside as though they were daring the firefighters to simply ‘try’ and extinguish them. Acrid, black smoke billowed out of windows previously shattered by the intense heat or broken by ventmen as a preemptive measure. At the window stood two people. The first, a child, five or six years old, knelt with her head sticking out the window as she gasped for fresh air, coughing and breathing with difficulty. Her dirty face was caked with soot, tears drawing tracks down her cheeks. The second, was a young woman, no more than thirty years old, with disheveled hair and red eyes.

Boyd jumped inside without hesitation, and inquired about their conditions. “Are you okay, miss?”

“I’m fine; we’re both fine. But take the kid first,” the woman said, her voice unaffected by her tears. “There is no fire yet in this apartment, only lots of smoke.”

“Ma’am,” Derek made sure he had her attention before continuing, “I need you to come down the ladder on your own. I will go first, and Boyd here, he will let you know when it is safe for you to start climbing down. Does that sound like something you’d be comfortable doing? If not, I can take the girl down first and come back up to assist you.”

“Yeah, I’m okay on ladders.”

“Good. That’s great.”

Boyd lifted the girl, and once Derek’s arms were level with his hands on the beams of the ladder, he placed her across his arms.

Her little body felt so small and fragile, fear edging in her characteristics so deeply, the need to encourage her was overwhelming. Despite telling them there was no fire in the apartment, Derek knew the tangible risk to the pair’s health. Flames may look more frightening, but smoke was what caused the most fatalities in fires. Whether from breathing in minute particulates, toxic vapors and gases, or super-heated air, smoke inhalation could kill in as little as two minutes.

Nevertheless, the child didn’t need to hear any of that. She needed reassuring. “No need to worry, sweetheart. I’m Derek and I’m taking you down to safety.” He smiled down at her when she nodded. “I’ll be back. You got this, Boyd?”

“Sure, man. Go on.”

Derek slowly began to climb down, his feet moving to the rung below before he slid his hands down the beams, holding the girl securely between his body and the metal of the ladder. The way down seemed faster, with the little girl tensing in his arms as she kept coughing. Now that they were in the daylight, he could see the bright red flush to her skin underneath the soot. That was not a good sign. Carbon Monoxide poisoning was dangerous.

“Ma’am,” he called back up, “I need to get her to the ambulance. Are you still okay?” She nodded, and with as much caution as he could, Derek began to descend faster. She managed to keep up without slipping, or losing her balance. Once they were both were back on the ground, Derek ran to the nearest ambulance.

Derek let the paramedic inside take her away from him as another one placing a stethoscope on her chest and listening to her breathing. “Smoke inhalation.” He grabbed an oxygen mask and secured it over her mouth and nose. “We need to get her to the hospital. This makes what? The fifth person today?”

“Sixth with smoke inhalation and two–” he stopped and Derek knew what he was going to say. Two deaths. The apprehension among them passed with a silent nod and the man continued. “You forget the two firefighters.”

Derek did a double take, his stomach churning at the thought. Firefighters? “We lost some of ours?” It wouldn’t be the first time, but even though there was a tangible risk that every time they entered a burning building, they might not make it out, it never made the reality of the job hazards any easier to swallow.

The man nodded while he administered oxygen to the girl. “I don’t know about losing but they were in a pretty bad shape. A James, I think?”

“Jim,” the other one helped, “And the other one had a very weird name. Niles or Miles or something like that.”

Derek felt the world narrowing around him, every sound mixing in a chaotic discordance. For a moment, he forgot how to breathe. The surroundings were lost to him. It couldn’t be. Stiles.

“Was he okay?” No one heard his words, and he wasn’t sure if he had even uttered them. He tried again in a harsh whisper.

“Who?” Erica was next to him with the young woman sitting on the step of the ambulance and one of the paramedics already on her.

“Stiles.” Derek swallowed and cleared his throat. trying to do the same for his thoughts that were a tangled mess. He reached for the man’s sleeve. “Was he okay?”

“The firefighters? We don’t know.” The man shrugged. “Eight dispatches to the hospital, two dead people, that’s all we know.”

Then, as if the universe existed solely to torment Derek, the driver started the engine to the rig and turned around to face the patient compartment. “No, I’m pretty sure 829 lost one of them en route.”

The world around him stopped moving and his head was swimming. All the air had been sucked from his lungs; his knees went weak, and if not for Erica, grabbing his elbow to support his weight, he would have collapsed on the ground like lifeless doll. The mere idea of a life without Stiles–

Losing him from a fire. Oh God. Not another one.

“Derek, come on. Sit down.” Erica’s voice was steady, and one moment he was behind the ambulance the next he was sitting on their truck. He had lost the in between. It was okay. It had to be okay. Stiles had been injured on the job again; he was not a newbie in this line of work. This was like every other time. It had to be. Things like losing your other half the day you were planning on proposing to them only happened in daytime soaps, right? Never in real life.

Not now. Not to him. Not again.

“-le! Hale!” Derek jerked his head towards the sound, and it took him a couple of seconds to focus through the haze in his mind. Uniform. Deep voice. Argent. “What are you doing here?” Chris Argent, the Chief of Fire Department, was looking at him with an austere demeanor. There was something else there, too. Worry maybe, but it was fleeting as the man steeled his expression back into his trademark poker face. “I don’t want you up there with your mind on Stiles. Go to the hospital and get away from my scene.”

Still lost in a sea of emotion, trying not to completely break down surrounded by his peers, Derek nodded without saying another word. He remained frozen for a few more minutes as his brain tried to come back online, when he felt a light tap on his shoulder. He looked over to see Deputy Parrish standing beside him, concern and anxiety set into his features. That could only mean one thing.  

Oh no. No. No. No.

“Sheriff Stilinski sent me over to pick you up, drive you over to Beacon Memorial.”

Though Parrish continued speaking, Derek didn’t hear a word he said. He didn’t hear anything, just let himself be guided into the passenger seat of the squad car.

 

***

 

The drive to the hospital flashed by in a blur. Images of a different fire in another life had flooded his thoughts, sinking him deeper and deeper into a sea of anxiety and loss. The person he was back then only had his sister to lean on for support. He was broken and guilt ridden, and fighting to get his head back above water. All of that fell on Laura, an awful lot of responsibility for one person. Now? While he still struggled with intrusive memories and images, with the way anxiety built within him before each job, with the phantom smell of smoke, he was better. And the Derek he was today was worlds away from the one he used to be. Still, no matter who he had become, Derek let himself drift away to numbness, just like that time, outside of a burning house that embraced and burnt down his world. There was nothing he could do. No way to control it. Even that tiny shred of hope in his mind came with a whisper of deception. Allowing it to take roots would mean more pain when someone grabbed it by the stem and ripped it out of his being. He wasn’t ready for that. He wasn’t ready for what was about to happen, either.

Once the car stopped, his body went into autopilot, opening the door and reaching the hospital’s door in two steps. Derek navigated into the corridors from memory alive, his everything focused on remaining on his feet and. He had to find Stiles. Because he _would_ find him. The opposite was unacceptable. Unfair.

He saw John speaking with the doctor and rushed to them only to freeze when he heard, “He’s still in surgery.”

His breath caught inside his chest, the edges of his vision darkening at the idea that Stiles was injured seriously enough to even be in surgery and yet, the only thought swirling in his mind keeping him steady was that Stiles hadn’t been the one to flatline in the ambulance. Stiles was fighting for his life, and if _he_ was fighting so would Derek.

Ironically, his knees gave up under him. His shoulder hit the wall, and then, there was a hand on his elbow. Parrish, instead of leaving and returning to the fire, had followed him in the car. “I’m okay,” he murmured, but it had been a lie. He wanted to sit down.

“Derek?” John was right next to him. Both of them helped Derek on a seat in the waiting room. John’s hand on the back of his neck grounded him to reality, to the present. He wasn’t alone. Whatever happened, this time he had people who he considered family.

When he spoke, his voice sounded like sandpaper. “What happened?”

“Concussion and broken arm.” The hand on his neck tightened and it took Derek a full minute to process the information.

“And the surgery?” The question was naive, he knew, but he had to ask nonetheless.

“For the arm, son. The surgery was needed to realign the bones and place the pins to stabilize his radius and ulna.” John’s face was filled with certainty and reassurance, his eyes warm despite the tiredness clawing at their corners. “He’s okay, Derek. He’ll be up and about in no time, talking our ears off about the history of sequins and how they relate to kittens and nuclear weapons.”

Derek nodded, realizing the pain in his hands was because he had been clenching them together ever since he sat down. He made himself take a deep breath. Stiles was alright. He was okay. He was okay. Derek swallowed, closed his eyes, and breathed again. Then again and again, the hand on the back of his neck ever present.

A plastic cup of water appeared in front of him when he opened his eyes, and Derek took it with gratitude. Parrish simply gave him a warm smile, nodded to John and left.

“Better?” John was looking at him with concern but not worry, his strong fingers moving to his shoulder squeezing.

“Yeah.” He was still a bit hoarse. After clearing his throat a couple times and taking a few drinks from the cup in his hand, his voice almost sounded normal. “Yes. The paramedics were talking… Someone lost a firefighter on their way here. I thought…” He shook his head. “I don’t know what I thought, because everything was… nothing seemed…”

There were long moments before John answered his unfinished sentences. “It’s okay, son. I know. In our lines of work, it’s hard not to fear the worst in these kinds of situations, especially when it comes to those we love. I admit I panicked a bit myself.”  

Derek suspected John was downplaying the severity of his reaction to make him feel better, but he let it go. Stiles was his only son, and ever since losing his wife they only had each other. Any reaction would be acceptable.

While they waited for Stiles to get out of surgery, they went for some coffee. There was little else to do at a hospital when waiting. It was like everything important to you was suspended in between those white walls, and time was moving backwards, refusing to do its job. Derek didn’t like hospitals, but this was not news. Who liked hospitals? They usually came with worry and bad news and that smell of disinfectant that seemed to sink into the skin for days.

“Here.” Derek caught a plastic bag of cookies John had thrown at him, the crinkling sound of it laughing in the face of the preferred silence of the hospital. “We don’t want Stiles to wake up and catch us drinking hospital coffee on an empty stomach.”

Derek huffed at that. “No, we don’t.” Because if there was one thing Stiles did well, among plenty of other things, it was fretting about their healthy diets while not giving a single shit about his own.

Derek unwrapped the twist-tie from the bag as John paid for the coffee and offered him one. Derek took one, too, and then tried to reclose the bag. He failed; his hands still shaking despite knowing that Stiles would be fine. He didn’t try again, just twisted the bag holding the opening steady and shoved the twist-tie in his pocket afterwards.

They returned to the waiting room to keep vigil until a nurse informed them that Stiles was out of surgery and in the process of waking up from anesthesia. They could see him in twenty minutes.

Derek munched on another cookie out of sheer relief.

 

***

 

Derek tried to offer the chair at Stiles’ beside to John, but was surprised when he gestured to the chair in the corner.

“I think when he wakes up, he’d rather see you first.” When Derek tried to protest, John smiled and said, “I was that person for seventeen years, I’ve passed the baton to you.” He squeezed Derek’s shoulder. “You’re his most important person now, and you know what? I’m okay with it.”

The emotion that bloomed in Derek’s chest was overwhelming, and he couldn’t stop himself from standing and embracing the man he hoped would become his father-in-law. “Thanks. It means a lot to me.”

He sat back down and took Stiles’ left hand – the uninjured one – in his, running his thumb over his knuckles away from the IV port sticking out of the skin. Stiles, all things considered, didn’t look too bad. Sure there was a large gash above his eyebrow that had been sutured closed (Derek counted twenty-fou- no, wait, twenty-six stitches), with quite a bit of bruising around the wound. There was a small cut on his lower lip, and of course the open-air cast on his arm. But he looked… good.

“How’d he get the cut on his forehead?” Derek wondered aloud. Their helmets were supposed to help prevent head injuries.

“Oh, I asked the same thing. The guy who pulled Stiles out of the building said that the floor gave out, and Stiles fell through. His helmet got knocked off in the fall. Landed on his arm and hit his head.”

Derek leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Stiles’ nose. “You had me so worried,” he whispered. “Don’t do that again. I don’t think I can handle it.”

Exhausted, he rested his head on the edge of the bed. Though he didn’t really do much at the job before Chief Argent sent him to the hospital, he was still damn near dead on his feet. Heavy emotions had a way of sapping the energy right out of his body. He’d just managed to drift when he felt a squeeze on his hand. Weariness immediately gone, he bolted up in the chair. Before he could say a word, Stiles, true to form, beat him to it.

“Holy hallucination, Batman. You are one beautiful man.” Stiles looked around, and Derek could tell exactly when he realized where he was, because his eyes widened before a slow-spreading smirk crept across his lip… an ill-advised smirk at that. He winced as the motion aggravated his split lip. “I always wanted to be treated by a hot doctor.”

Derek chuckled and shook his head at his boyfriend’s pain medication induced dopiness. “No, Stiles, I’m not your doctor.”

“Still hot though,” he said, now actively petting Derek’s beard. “Oh, it’s so much softer than it looks. I could do this for hours.”

Derek smiled. Stiles had always had a thing for his beard. “Do it as much as you want.”

He gave Derek an excited grin, continuing his caresses. “Pretty. So very, very pretty.”

If Derek hadn’t spent the past few hours worried out of his mind, he’d be laughing at Stiles’ behavior right now for sure.

“Anyone ever tell you that your eyes look like a galaxy or a nebula? Well they do. They’re like miniature green oceans dotted with brown plant things. You know, the slimy stuff that attacks you when you’re surfing. Not sharks but like sea garland or something.”

“Kelp?”

“Yeah that’s the one. I could live in those eyes. Do you have a special person?”

Derek smirked. “Yes.”

“They’re a lucky bastard. I hope they write you sonnets. Your eyes deserve aaaall the sonnets. Hey, I’ll write you one!

 

> _“There once was a hot guy with a beard_
> 
> _Whose stubble was much softer than I had feared._
> 
> _It begged to be touched_
> 
> _His mouth begged to be fucked_
> 
> _And I gotta feel that beard between my thighs pronto.”_

 

“Stiles, that’s not a sonnet. It’s a limerick, and pronto doesn’t rhyme with beard.”

“Tomato, potahto.”

The more Stiles continued speaking nonsense, the warmer Derek felt inside. Stiles, _his_ Stiles, was safe and awake, even though he was high as a fucking kite. But it didn’t matter, because Derek wouldn’t change the way he rolled his eyes - _It’s the same thing Derek!_ \- or the way he dragged the “o” at the end of the second word.

Before Stiles, he had never expected anyone to look at him like this, like he was the most beautiful and important person in the whole damn world. Stiles had a way… his eyes piercing into Derek’s soul from early on, his words cutting clean festering wounds inside him. Derek had no idea how he did it, but the man had been persistent and patient and stubborn. And more importantly, Stiles had been there for him.

Derek had been lucky, and there was no one else in this earth that he would want to share his life with. Only Stiles.

The two eyes staring back at him were dazed from the medicine but honest as always. In that moment, Derek realized that he couldn’t wait. He couldn’t wait a single minute longer to ask Stiles to be his husband. His proposal plan–a romantic dinner and a walk at Beacon Hills Park where Derek would kneel on that bridge that they first kissed while sharing ice cream and curly fries–seemed too pretentious now. There wasn’t a more perfect moment that the present. And form the looks of it, Stiles wouldn’t care. Well, they did have poetry.

The ring was at home, waiting patiently for almost two weeks, but Derek didn’t care. He would give him the ring once he came home. He searched in his pockets and the tired twist-tie that had lost the battle with the plastic bag offered him a solution. Derek smiled.

“Stiles?”

“Yeah pretty boy?”

Derek twirled the twist-tie in front of them. “I had this whole plan worked out, but this is a perfect moment. You’re everything I ever wanted and more than I thought I’d ever have.  Would you marry me?”

After a brief pause,  Stiles cackled. “Woooow that would have been a definite yes in any other occasion, I mean, have you seen you? It’s like you were cut from marble, beautiful bearded marble. I bet if I licked you, you’d taste like magic.” He broke out in a fit of giggles. “You’re a wizard, Hottie.” He looked pleased as could be with his joke.  “But I’m sorry. I have to say no. I’m seeing someone, who is even hotter than you. His ass is a gift from the gods. You should see it. It’s a thing of beauty, man. On the sixth day, God created man. The seventh he took an epic nap. Annnnnnnnnd on the eighth day, he crafted that thing of beauty known as Derek’s ass. And the angels wept.” Derek laughed out loud, his worry and exhaustion all washing out with the beautiful gift that were Stiles’ words.

“You’d better ask him in a couple of hours, son.” At the corner, John was wiping the tears in his eyes as he tried to keep it together.

**Author's Note:**

> *OVM: stands for Outside Vent Man
> 
> Come visit us on tumblr. [captaintinymite](http://captaintinymite.tumblr.com/) & [apinkducky](http://apinkducky.tumblr.com/)


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